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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24821287">Where We End Is Fate</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickSilverFox3/pseuds/QuickSilverFox3'>QuickSilverFox3</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, First Meetings, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Touch-Starved</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:15:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,054</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24821287</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickSilverFox3/pseuds/QuickSilverFox3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Credence remembers his first meeting with Mr Graves in the aftermath of the man telling him that he has a job for him.<br/>-<br/>The old church was often freezing — too full of patched holes to truly keep the biting wind out, too large for any fire to warm the distant corners even if they could spare the money for coal — but the shivers that assailed Credence had nothing to do with cold.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Credence Barebone &amp; Gellert Grindelwald, Credence Barebone &amp; Original Percival Graves</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Where We End Is Fate</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><b>Written for Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Summer Assignment</b><br/>Class: Potions Task #1 - Leeches: Muggles used to view leeches as a remedy to most illnesses. Though certain leech species are quite useful in the brewing of potions such as the Polyjuice Potion and the Shrinking Solution, most are simply bloodsucking parasites. Write about a toxic relationship<br/>(For clarity: Credence &amp; Grindelwald is the toxic relationship. Credence &amp; Graves is the relationship Grindelwald exploits.)<br/>Prompt: [dialogue] "A little goes a long way."; [word] Potent; [emotion] Euphoria<br/>WC: 2087</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The old church was often freezing — too full of patched holes to truly keep the biting wind out, too large for any fire to warm the distant corners even if they could spare the money for coal — but the shivers that assailed Credence had nothing to do with cold.</p><p> </p><p>Carefully, mindful of the straw protruding through holes in his mattress, and his heart lodged in his throat with every creak and groan of the house, Credence drew his knees up to his chest. Lacing his arms across them — ignoring the prickle of disgust that lanced down his spine, pushing past the guilt slowing his movements — he squeezed tight, the weight on his shoulders releasing with a soundless gasp. </p><p> </p><p>His mother preached about the eternally burning fires of Hell, painting a terrifying picture of the pits filled with the souls of sinners locked in never-ending torment for their crimes on Earth, regretful and repentant but trapped. And yet, Credence still yearned for Mr Graves’ touch, craved the press of the man’s hands against his shoulders, cupping the back of his neck—</p><p> </p><p>Credence’s groan — the noise almost punched out of him, a prayer he was unaware of ever making — stirred him out of his memories, the euphoria replaced by the shocking coldness of fear, bile rising in his throat. He ripped his hands away from his legs as if burnt — chest expanding, ribs pressing into his arms like blades — and pressed them to his mouth. </p><p> </p><p>The church groaned around him like a dying animal — trapping Credence in its death knell — and something deep in his chest responded. That flicker of <em> something </em> froze the blood in Credence’s veins, eyes stretched wide enough to tear as his lungs screamed for air, nails biting into the hollows of his cheeks. It wasn’t part of him, couldn’t be part of him and yet—</p><p> </p><p>It reminded him of Mr Graves. It reminded him of that woman, Tina she insisted he call her, although that memory was faded, voice firm even as her face creased into worried lines: her gaze never turned towards his mother like the others when she attended the meetings — and she attended almost all of them, a spectre in her grey coat, collar turned up against the biting wind — but instead passing over Credence and his sisters. Credence couldn’t say what drew his eye to them when so many others looked over them as if they weren’t there; but he knew they were different, power crackling through their veins like trapped lightning — drawing him closer even as he tried to pull away.</p><p> </p><p>Mr Graves hadn’t touched him before today.</p><p> </p><p>Credence searched through his memories — hands dropping from his mouth for his fingers to curl into claws around his thin blanket, searching for the slightest hint of the other man’s rich cologne that could be clinging to his skin. Mr Graves was normally so careful to keep his distance, and Credence treasured each moment he drew close enough for the heat to radiate into Credence’s very bones; the faintest touch at the base of Credence’s spine, as if he was fragile, to steer him through a crowd. Mr Graves had always looked torn when he looked at Credence — he knew the emotion well, the constant push and pull of wanting and knowing, lost on the relentless tide like flotsam — but he had always kept a distance between them. And there had been their first meeting—</p><p> </p><p>⁂</p><p> </p><p>“Here.”</p><p> </p><p>Credence blinked, mouth already beginning to form the rote words he knew by heart (‘<em> There are witches among us </em>’) when the pamphlet was plucked from his unresisting fingers — broken too many times to bend correctly, too cold to move them — and replaced with a non descript brown paper bag. It took a few moments for the heat to pierce through to his frozen skin, pain following on its heels like firecrackers beneath his skin; but a few moments was all it took for Credence to peer up at the other man, with his shoulders hunching even further at the weight of those dark eyes. A strange sensation washed over him, the hair on the back of his neck prickling as if he was standing next to a lightning strike.</p><p> </p><p>“I can see why my colleague—“ The man’s lips twisted into a barely suppressed grin at that, the expression falling from his face as quickly as it appeared, “—was concerned about you.”</p><p> </p><p>Credence couldn’t stop himself from shrinking back, apologies dying in his throat as it closed up, heartbeat as loud as a mourner’s drum in his chest; but the man let him, flicking through the pamphlet with a carefully blank look on his face.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t know who you mean.”</p><p> </p><p>A lie, and they both knew it. Credence could feel the memory of the belt across his back — meant to think of salvation and the overwhelming force of God’s forgiving love but all he could think about was wanting to <em> get away </em> as something strange burned in his stomach. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re a smart boy. You’ve worked out no one can remember what Porpentina did.” </p><p> </p><p>The man stopped on one of the pages — Credence could just see the carefully printed depiction of a witch screaming as she burnt, Chastity’s zeal in every heavily inked line — and sighed, tracing a gloved finger across the face, twisted in eternal agony.</p><p> </p><p>“You should eat. It’s not going to stay warm for much longer.”</p><p> </p><p>Credence felt a strange pulse of power from the man once again, teeth aching in his jaw, and he turned to try and find his mother or sisters in the heaving crowd — heavier now that the sky overhead had changed to the threatening rolling grey of storm clouds. Modesty met his eyes, and then her gaze slipped away from him; a momentary look of confusion passing over her face before it was gone, replaced with a wide smile as she hopped over the cracked cobblestones.</p><p> </p><p>“They can’t see you, Credence. Your mother and sisters won’t know.”</p><p> </p><p>The bag crinkled as Credence unwrapped the pastry, stomach growling and twisting as the scent of cooked meat and onions hit him. It was still warm despite the biting chill in the air, and Credence glanced up at the man, who was meticulously flicking through the leaflet once more, deliberately not looking at Credence.</p><p> </p><p>It was the most perfect thing Credence had ever tasted, and it was gone far too soon as the boy licked the slightest trace of gravy from his fingers, brushing away any incriminating scraps of pastry that could damn him in the eyes of his mother with a narrow minded focus. When Credence looked back up, he realised the man had his head tilted back to stare Credence in the eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“A little goes a long way,” he murmured, more to himself than to Credence as he shrunk back down, shame flooding his chest and killing the comfort of a full stomach, already rolling with waves of guilt. “I wonder, could I speak with you again, Credence? It would help keep Porpentina pleased and out of my office.”</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t have to, sir,” Credence said mechanically, even as <em> something </em> twisted in his chest, making its displeasure known at being denied. For a moment Credence felt it fully, saw the inky black depths just beneath his skin, felt the raging power barely contained by his fragile bones. He would break open like shattered glass, and this <em> thing </em> would emerge, bloodied and furious and—</p><p> </p><p>“No, I think I do,” the other man said, his voice gentle and yet firm, the voice of a man accustomed to being obeyed, and Credence had said no to him. He reached out towards Credence, and he flinched backwards, hands raised to cover his face—</p><p> </p><p>If he returned with bruises, his mother would <em> know </em>, she would know he’d sinned and she would, she would—</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>The brown paper bag was neatly taken from his raised hand, disappearing into the man's coat pocket. Credence blinked, feeling his breath slip out in gasps around the weight in his throat, muscles tense and screaming beneath the strain. Warmth radiated from the man’s gloves, and Credence found himself leaning closer, </p><p> </p><p>“My name is Percival Graves,” the man said, with an inclination of his head, the leather of his gloves shifting with a noise as gentle as a sigh as he tucked them back into his pockets, refraining from drawing near Credence again.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, Mr Graves,” Credence mumbled, hugging the leaflets close to his chest, ducking his head once more. His heart had yet to settle, slamming against the confines of his chest, and yet… He felt content, happy for the first time since Tina had stopped his mother from beating him, since he had first seen <em> magic </em>. </p><p> </p><p>He dreamed of that power, so casually used when it had changed everything, crackling into his mother and setting every nerve he had alight — but it hadn’t hurt, hadn’t made him recoil away. Instead, he leant closer. Then it was gone, the moment of euphoria already fading into distant memory and no-one knew but him.</p><p> </p><p>“Hold still, Credence.”</p><p> </p><p>Mr Graves removed one hand from his pocket, a thin stick — a wand, Credence could feel the power contained within it in an instant, terror and awe sending his head spinning — appearing between one heartbeat and the next. </p><p> </p><p>“Scourgify,” Mr Graves said clearly, the small quirk of his mouth suggesting he spoke for Credence’s benefit only, swiping his wand down.</p><p> </p><p>Mr Graves’ magic felt different to Tina’s, a heady combination that sent Credence’s skin ablaze with the power he contained, even as a strange tickling sensation slithered down his chest, briefly swiping over his shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>“A simple Cleaning Charm,” Mr Graves explained, tilting his head to one side as he inspected Credence, the boy shifting uncomfortably underneath such intense scrutiny.</p><p> </p><p>“Off you go now, Credence,” Mr Graves said, “I’ll see you again soon.”</p><p> </p><p>Credence nodded, and stumbled away from Mr Graves, mind awhirl. He knew Mr Graves hadn’t realised he could still hear him as the other man murmured, “A little goes a long way. Have some Salem damned patience.”</p><p> </p><p>Credence turned — question or damnation brewing on his lips — but Mr Graves was gone, a pulse of power wrapping around the space he had been, and Credence was alone on a busy street once more.</p><p> </p><p>⁂</p><p> </p><p>Credence lay on his bed and he <em> burned </em>. He burned and he didn’t want to stop. </p><p> </p><p>Mr Graves had felt different today, his magic — Credence knew the feeling of his magic against his skin, Mr Graves healing his wounds as much as he dared to avoid his mother’s suspicion, cleaning his clothes to avoid more bearings — unfettered, a roaring mess inside of him. Even the way he moved was different, as if he was trying to keep himself contained, trapped and raging to be freed.</p><p> </p><p>But even as Credence opened his mouth to ask — fear threatening to choke the air from his lungs, trembling even as he braced himself for a stinging lash of pain — Mr Graves pressed one hand to his face, and nothing else mattered. </p><p> </p><p>“I have a job for you Credence,” Mr Graves said, <em> purred </em>, an almost manic light flickering through his eyes; and for the first time, a twist of true fear stirred in Credence’s chest. But Mr Graves was touching him, his hand so warm against Credence’s skin that he couldn’t help but lean into it, seeking more—</p><p> </p><p>“A little goes a long way,” Mr Graves said, the grin twisting his lips closer to a snarl when viewed through Credence’s half closed eyes.</p><p> </p><p>This was wrong, and Credence couldn’t find it in himself to care. The <em> thing </em>in his chest could rage and howl in opposition, but in that moment Credence would have torn down the sky if Mr Graves had asked him to.</p><p> </p><p>“I need you to find a child for me,” Mr Graves said, thumb smoothing over Credence’s cheek bone and the boy could have howled for the wanting of it.</p><p> </p><p>“I will,” Credence promised, unaware that Mr Graves didn’t touch him for fear of influencing him, unaware that the man he had befriended was bleeding and broken in a cell, unaware that he had sealed his fate with just two words to the devil now standing before him, wearing a familiar face.</p>
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